Stormalong
by geekmama
Summary: Six years after World's End, a citizen of an island two days sail from Shipwreck Cove comes seeking help for his storm-ravaged community. Elizabeth Swann, Pirate King, answers the call, much to Jack's dismay. Written for the 10-hurt-comfort theme 'Love'.
1. Errand

This story completes my 10hurtcomfort table on Live Journal. The theme for this one is 'Love'. My profound thanks goes to Hereswith for her mad beta skillz, and to Artaxastra on Live Journal for writing her wonderful post-AWE series, _Outlaws and Inlaws_, which universe inspired this story and many others.

* * *

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter One: **_**Errand**_

"Where is she?"

Jack's expression as he strode purposefully down the gangplank toward Teague did not convey happy relief in arriving once more at Shipwreck Cove, the one place in the world he might reasonably call home.

Teague's mouth twisted in a grimace. He'd expected this, Jack being unlikely to miss the absence of the _Empress_. "She's gone. Come along to the Green Goose, and I'll tell you about it."

"Bloody hell," muttered Jack.

He fell into step with Teague without a backward glance. Understandable: the _Pearl_ was in good hands, Gibbs barking orders right and left, and the crew complying with a will that betokened a strong desire to finish their work and debark for the many diversions to be had along Shipwreck City's waterfront. The Green Goose was more of a trek, away from the hustle and noise, and it was closer to Teague's lodgings -- and the King's, too, of course. Not that Jackie'd find aught but a cold bed there this night.

As they walked, Teague asked how business had progressed. Jack allowed it had been fairer than the weather. "Finished negotiations with Redmond a couple of hours before that storm closed in."

"Much damage to the port?" Teague asked. Andrew Redmond was an old friend of Teague's.

"No, edge skimmed by us, is all. Looks like you had it worse here." Jack waved a hand at the evidence of tide and wave that still stained the lowest level.

"A bit. Nothin' like that storm four years ago, when you sailed in on Groves' pinnace, right in the teeth of it."

Jack chuckled, briefly, but then his humor faded. Thinking of the lass, no doubt. Teague knew that'd been their first time. A wicked storm had battered the Cove without, but there'd been a wicked sweet one within, from what he'd gathered from them the next day. Not in words, of course, but the signs had been plain enough. Jackie was bound to remember that fondly. "Told her I'd be back by the end of the month," Jack groused now. "We were supposed to head off to Curaçao, the _Empress_ and the _Pearl_ both."

"Something came up. She's gone on a mission of mercy."

"A _what?_"

Teague laughed shortly, but just said, "You'll do better with a drink in hand for this one."

o-o-o

Teague gave Meg, owner of the Goose, a buss on the cheek and took the tankards from her. "You're a right one, Meggie."

"Get on wi' you, John Teague," she said, blushing like a girl.

His smile dimmed as he made his way to the table where Jack slouched in his chair, drumming his fingers against the stained wood. Teague wondered if Jack would take the news as badly as expected. "Here, drink up." He handed his son a tankard and sat down with his own.

Jack drank deep and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "All right. Let's have it. Short and sweet."

"Well, short, anyway," Teague agreed. "Fella named Pontchartrain sailed into the Cove five days back—"

"Pontchartrain? The old man from Île Sainte-Thérèse?"

"Not that one. He's dead some years, I reckon. Boy didn't mention him. It was his son, Henri. Île Sainte-Therese was hit hard in the storm, and young Pontchartrain unbent enough to come beggin' supplies from us _scum of the earth pirates_. And for a physician: seems there's some fever or other breakin' out in the poorer quarters, and their own leech was killed in the storm –house fell right in on him!"

"And Lizzie went?" Jack exclaimed, sounding appropriately horrified.

"She did. No one else offered, of course. Told her about the bad blood between Île Sainte-Thérèse and the Cove, but she'd have none of it. Got right incensed – you know how she can be. Vowed she'd load up the _Empress_ and go herself, if no one else would aid them, and that's what she did. No leech to be had, but she said a couple of her Chinamen were better'n any Westerner and they'd see what could be done for the folk of the Île. Hadn't planned to _stay_, though, and that's what worries me. She should've been back yesterday, or today at the latest. It's only two day's sail, with the wind we've had out there, but there's been no sign of 'em."

"And I suppose you want me to go to the Île, is that it?"

Teague's mouth twitched at Jack's annoyance, belied by the worry in his eyes. The lad was too easy to read, sometimes. "Thought there was a chance you might be willing. Maybe you'll meet up with her as she sails back, eh?

Jack frowned. "Where's Jamie? She didn't take him?"

"No, she wouldn't risk him, not with a plague of some sort starting up. Mighty put out he was, too. Nell's got him right now. He'll be glad you're back: we were buttin' heads today. Wasn't best pleased when I told him he couldn't go down to the docks to watch the _Pearl_ come in."

Jack's expression lightened. "I'll go to him." He drained off his tankard in one fell swoop.

"What about our fair liege?" Teague asked, though he already knew the answer.

Finished, Jack smacked the tankard down with a _thunk_. "Bloody woman," he said, though there was more fondness than heat in it. "If there's no sign of her by noon tomorrow, I'll be off to see what's become of her. I'll give her what for, shall I? I'm supposing she completely ignored your sage advice – or any advice."

"Didn't so much ignore it as throw it in me face," Teague grinned. "She's a mind of her own, if you hadn't noticed."

Jack just rolled his eyes in reply.

o-o-o

A while later, when Jack brought Jamie down to the kitchen for supper, the little lad was in better trim than he'd been since his mother had sailed.

"_Captain Teague!_"

"Jamie-lad!" Teague gave an _Ooomph!_ as he was hugged with a five-year-old's violence. "Whoa, there, careful of an old man. So you're not miffed at me any more, eh? That was quite a fit you had, earlier."

Jamie let go of him and straightened, and assumed a contrite air. "I'm sorry, Captain, and I'll never do it again."

Teague chuckled. "You've been takin' lessons from an expert. Uncle Jack had considerable practice with those words when he was a young varmint like you. Ah, well. I'll accept the apology in the spirit it was given. Let's go have some supper now, eh?"

The three sat down and set to, Jack looking blissful at the taste of the stew. "That Rosie – she's a better cook than her mother ever was." But he glanced up quickly. "Don't tell 'em I said that!"

Teague nodded. "No worries, eh, Jamie?"

"Mum's the word," Jamie piped, and grinned when both men laughed.

Jamie sat quiet for a while after that, picking at his stew and listening to Teague and Jack discuss the _Pearl_'s business with Andrew Redmond, but when the conversation lagged, the boy spoke up. "Are we going after my mother, Uncle Jack?"

"We're not going anywhere," Uncle Jack asserted, pointedly. "If she don't show by tomorrow morning, I'll take a few men and sail the _Pearl_ over to Île Sainte-Thérèse and fetch her back for you."

"Can't I go? I'll--"

"No! Don't know what sort of fever Ponchartrain was goin' on about, but whatever it is, your Mum wanted you to keep clear of it. What kind of an uncle would I be, bringing you nigh of it 'gainst her wishes, eh? You'll need to stay here and take care of Captain Teague, savvy?"

Jamie pouted and grumbled something under his breath, but Jack ignored this and changed the subject. Teague followed suit, though he kept a corner of his eye on the boy. It was evident there'd be troubled waters ahead if Jamie's mother didn't show on the morrow.

o-o-o

She didn't show. The lookout, high atop the volcanic ridge that surrounded the Cove, couldn't spot even the hint of another ship by noon the next day. Jack, who'd spent the morning seeing to the disposal of the _Pearl_'s swag and the loading of a generous number of crates and chests of additional supplies for the Île – "Just in case we need 'em!" – was ready to head out by noon with a handpicked skeleton crew.

"Where's Jamie?" Jack frowned when Teague came to bid him fair seas.

Teague scowled. "Hiding again. Scurvy brat. I gave him a scold for goin' on about you leaving him behind, and he took off. Probably in some closet again, somewhere."

Jack swore colorfully. "I'd help you hunt him down, but we'd miss the tide."

"I'll find the lad," Teague assured him. "Just bring his mother back safe."

"No worries. Or," Jack amended, "_some worries_. But no worries so fierce they'll keep you from your well-deserved repose – or other recreational pursuits – eh?"

Teague grimaced. "Recreational pursuits like catchin' that little scapegrace? Thought you had a tide to catch, Jackie."

_**TBC**_


	2. Disaster

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Two: **_**Disaster**_

Elizabeth felt a profound sense of peace coupled with an almost giddy excitement, standing near the bow of the _Empress_ as she ran, close-hauled against a steady wind. It had only been two months since the _Empress_ and the _Pearl_ had come home to Shipwreck Cove from a journey across the Atlantic, the two ships sailing together, neck and neck, swift and sure, but it seemed far longer somehow. Elizabeth was very glad they'd be going off on the long run to Curaçao soon, when Jack returned with the _Pearl_. As much as she had learned to love her life at the Cove – and, having lost her old life almost entirely, it was a great blessing to have a place she could call home, where she was accepted for exactly what she was – she was still happiest when she was sailing.

Monsieur Pontchartrain stepped up beside her. "I know I should not say such things, madame, but you look a veritable goddess."

She burst out laughing, but then, noting the startled expression on his youthful face, said, quickly, "Oh, pardon! I do thank you, monsieur. And it's no laughing matter, I suppose. I've had some strange adventures, and goddesses played too much a part in them. But I feel like a girl today, in spite of our business here. I took my first sea voyage at twelve, when my father and I came to live in Jamaica, and I loved it from the moment the ship left the dock in Bristol."

"You are a marvelous sailor, madame – I've watched you since we left Shipwreck Cove. I do not believe there are many men who could handle a vessel as capably."

"I have a ship and crew that give me their all, monsieur."

"Ah, but I saw you this morning, as you took your turn at the helm, your hand so light and steady on the wheel."

Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. _These Frenchmen!_ Her mind touched briefly on the wiles of Capitaine Chevalle and she suppressed a smile. He'd said nearly the same thing, once, though he'd a baser goal than Henri Ponchartrain had in mind, no doubt. _Ah, bah!_ – as Chevalle would say himself.

She told Henri, "The winds are fair, and it's easy sailing – we should reach Île Sainte-Thérèse in a few hours. Your people will eat well tonight, and we shall see what else we can do for them on the morrow, before we head back."

"You are all goodness, madame. I hesitated to ask help of the Cove's inhabitants – my father was not a friend to them, and there were some incidents… But Île Sainte-Thérèse is so isolated."

"You did right to come. I think if more of the brethren had been there they would have answered the call, but there were very few in port, alas. My favor must suffice."

"The favor of the King. It is worth a great deal." Henri said, his eyes shining.

Elizabeth smiled wryly. "It's worth something, certainly – let's hope it's worth enough."

o-o-o

Île Sainte-Thérèse was a small island, but it was possessed of a harbor deep enough to allow access to all but the largest ships, and the inhabitants had built a sturdy wharf that would accommodate a half dozen or more at a time. Fortunately the wharf had been little damaged by the recent storm but, as the _Empress_ eased in to dock and tie off, Elizabeth saw that this could not be said for the rest of the town that lay along the bay. It was a shambles. It was obvious there had been considerable flooding, and wind damage to both buildings and vegetation – every palm and shrub near the waterfront looked shredded! But worse than that, it appeared as if a whole swathe of the east side of the town had been entirely washed away.

"The mud and water came down off the mountain in a wave, madame," Henri said, his voice quiet. "When I left to seek aid, they were still digging out those who failed to escape the onslaught. Five people succumbed, to my knowledge, and there were a few yet missing."

Elizabeth bit her lip. The young man had been able to forget his cares for a time in the journey to bring help to his people, but they were beginning to be borne in upon him again. A brief silence fell as the two of them took in the devastation, but then Elizabeth asked, "Where are the other folk of the town? I would have thought…"

"Yes, I too would have thought they'd be here to greet us." Henri frowned worriedly. "Only four days ago, there were many working diligently to make repairs, and I departed with hope that much would be accomplished by the time I returned."

"Look!" Tai Huang had come up beside them and pointed to a street that spilled into the waterfront from the west side of the town.

"Soeur Marguerite!" exclaimed Henri, relieved, waving to the nun, highly visible in her white and gray habit. "And that is Jori with her, a good lad, he studies for the priesthood with Frère Anselm. They will be able to tell us what has happened."

A gangplank was soon let down and Elizabeth and Henri debarked and walked up the wharf and onto the muddy waterfront to meet the welcoming party.

As they drew near, Soeur Marguerite was seen to be a striking woman, about Elizabeth's own age. She had a fine olive complexion, a strong nose, and a well-sculpted chin and lips. But it was her eyes that struck one most, large, dark, serious eyes that yet held a kind of peace in their depths, and were apt to humor too, as evidenced by faint but discernable lines at their corners. Just now, however, the young nun was looking rather shocked as she studied Elizabeth.

To one dedicated not only to propriety but to holiness, Elizabeth knew she must present a very odd appearance, dressed as she was in her Chinaman's garb of rich embroidered silk, a long dagger sheathed at her side, and pale wisps of hair, loosened by the wind, drifting over the edges of a face that her mirror told her was sharp and sun-bronzed. The King of Pirates flushed faintly and lifted her chin a little.

Henri made introductions. "Soeur Marguerite, Jori, this is Elizabeth Swann—"

"You are a pirate?" asked Jori, fascinated. He appeared to be a vigorous, raw-boned youth, some years younger than Henri, Elizabeth guessed, and there was no guile in the friendly, curious face.

"The _King_ of Pirates!" Henri said, with enthusiasm. "She has brought everything we might need, and we owe her our deepest thanks."

"The _King_," Marguerite repeated, but then inclined her head. "If this is so, madame, you have our profound gratitude."

"But where is everyone?" Henri asked, and when Soeur Marguerite looked up Elizabeth felt a chill within.

"Monsieur, I regret…" The nun hesitated.

"But what?" Henri demanded.

"The fever… there are many who have been stricken. It is bad, very bad. There are more than sixty now. We use the church to house them. Those who have not been afflicted, who have undamaged homes or live in the camp for those without homes, stay inside their dwellings, afraid to come out! That is why no work is being accomplished. They wait, and they pray for deliverance, which is well, of course, but when there is so much to be done—" Her voice, which had been increasingly unsteady, now became wholly suspended.

"Soeur Marguerite!" Henri placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. Henri said, "It seems we come barely in time. These are dreadful tidings. But all will be well. All _must_ be well."

The nun looked up at him again. "Henri," she said, gently, "I must tell you… your mother--"

"She is not ill?" Henri exclaimed.

Marguerite gathered herself. "She was helping us nurse the sick, as you know. The very evening after you left for Shipwreck Island she was taken by the fever. She has passed, Henri. Last night."

Henri stared, very white about the mouth. "And my brother? What of him?"

"He is among those who lie in the church, Henri. But I am afraid—"

But Henri put out a grim hand and then walked away, striding quickly in the direction of the church.

o-o-o

"Ah, that was hard," Soeur Marguerite said, as if to herself. But then she straightened and turned to Elizabeth, and tried to smile.

Elizabeth said, gently, "Such news is never easy to impart – or bear. Come with me, now, to the _Empress_."

"Of course. The supplies. How can we th—"

"Wine, first, in my cabin. Then you can look over what we've brought and give directions for its disposal." Elizabeth smiled at Marguerite's surprise. "You do take wine, do you not?"

"I shouldn't. There is so much to do."

"We will help you, Soeur Margeurite. After the wine."

"You are kind," the nun said, and there was wonder in her voice. "Very well, madame."

"Good!" said Jori, who had kept a watchful silence until now. "Father Anselm says that wine balances the humours and lifts the spirits, and is one of God's great gifts when used wisely." He bowed to Elizabeth. "I know I leave our little sister in good hands, Madame Swann. I will go back to the church. There is much to do. And Henri Ponchartrain will need a friend there just now, I think."

_**TBC**_


	3. Shadows

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Three: **_**Shadows**_

Jack had been scanning the shoreline through his spyglass for some time, off and on, as the _Pearl_ made its way toward the harbor at Île Sainte-Thérèse. A small number of folk slowly gathered at the waterfront to watch – "You'd think great black pirate ships came into port every day of the week," he remarked to Gibbs – but the _Pearl_ was nearly ready to ease up behind the _Empress_ at the wharf before he spotted Elizabeth, some distance away, hurrying toward them from a sidestreet, accompanied by Tai Huang and another man, youngish and dressed in a brown cassock. Jack took the wheel from Cotton to bring the _Pearl_ in, and then kept half an eye on Elizabeth and the other half on his ship as he issued orders to Gibbs, who relayed them to the crew rather more sharply. The _Pearl_ was quickly tied off and settled in, and the big gangplank was lowered with a firm thump.

Jack, resplendent in his piratiness (he'd repaired to his cabin to primp an hour before –first impressions counted for a great deal, in his considerable experience), debarked and made his way up the wharf. The small crowd at the end parted to allow Elizabeth and her escorts to pass through and the three strode toward him, Tai Huang looking a little sardonic as he glanced 'tween captain and captain, Elizabeth looking resolute, and cassock-lad looking more and more astounded by Jack and the _Pearl_.

"Captain Sparrow!" Elizabeth greeted him. She seemed composed enough for the most part, though something lurked at the back of her eyes, some unquiet he'd seen before.

"Captain Swann," he returned, and took the hand she held out. Her fingers closed on his, rather convulsively, and he squeezed back, keeping hold as she introduced him.

"Captain Sparrow, this is Jori: a very capable young man who is an acolyte under the parish priest, Father Anselm. Jori, this is Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean."

Jori's eyes widened further. "_Vraiment_?" he breathed.

Jack's mouth twitched against a grin as Jori bowed, then bowed again. "Aye, _vraiment_."

"Your fame goes before you, _capitaine_. Our benefactress, Capitaine Swann, has told us much about you."

"That so?"

"_Oui!_ She entertains the little ones – and not only the little ones! – with tales of your exploits. It helps them to forget the… the difficulties of the present."

"Difficulties." Jack slid his eyes toward Elizabeth and said, "I thought something of that nature must've detained her. Would you care to enlighten me as to the extent of said difficulties, Captain Swann?"

She slipped her hand from his grasp and met his gaze squarely. "Since you've been to the Cove you must know of the news that Henri Pontchartrain brought, of the destruction and illness that have stricken the people of the Île. We returned to find the situation far worse than we'd imagined. The people here were in need of more than just supplies. My crew and I elected to stay and help."

Jack glanced at Tai Huang, who gave both a nod and a small shrug. Elizabeth's Chinese crew was accustomed to these quixotic fits and starts of hers. Jack supposed she'd come by them honestly, what with her father a royal governor, and a decent one from most accounts. Jack had called her _pirate_ when she'd ensured his own demise all those years ago, but it was the good of the many that she'd had in mind then, as ever, and damn anyone who got in her way. Very unpiratical, really – or perhaps it was just that there was a touch of the pirate in every good ruler. In any case, here she was, doing it again, though it was his heart that was chained this time, not his wrist.

He studied her, now: tired and worried, but straight and calm and maybe a little defiant. He had a feeling he'd already lost any argument he could advance, even if he got her into his cabin for a private discussion. So instead of suggesting it, he bowed and said to her, "Quite in accord with what we've come to expect from Your Beneficence. P'rhaps you'd like to show me around a bit, so I can see for meself what's toward and determine the _Black Pearl_'s part in this play."

"Play," she echoed. But then she visibly gathered herself. "Very well. Yes. Come then, and we'll show you."

o-o-o

There were a few of the townsfolk that had been healthy enough and shamed enough to leave their homes and assist the Chinese pirates with the repair of their town, but not many. Progress was being made, but more slowly than they had hoped, Elizabeth said. Jack sniffed, and frowned at the massive damage to the east side of the town – seven people buried alive, and the rest of the hundred or so residents now homeless and living in a makeshift camp of flimsy tents!

Or, if they'd fallen ill of the fever, in the church.

The time and effort and money that went into the building and furnishing of these enormous edifices, found in every land where Catholicism held sway, had often seemed a hideous waste of substance to Jack. He had to admit, though, that this particular example was being put to excellent use at the moment. Only the sacristy, the altar, and the area directly in front of the latter was reserved for their usual purpose, the rest of the building being given over to the housing and care of the sick during the crisis that was upon them. The afflicted were everywhere, many dozens of them, mattresses of varying thickness, or simply blankets, the only things between them and the marble floor. There were the usual dreadful smells and sounds that were found in sick rooms, but these were somewhat mitigated by the vast airiness of the vaulted ceiling, the scent of incense which had seeped into the very stones of the building, and the melodious sound of Father Anselm as he chanted the prayers of the Rosary.

"He's oddly squeamish, and not much good as a nurse," Elizabeth told Jack, quietly, "but he is diligent in his religious duties, and it seems to comfort the sick. Jori is of far more practical use – no task seems too abhorrent for him, and he has an easy way with invalids of any age."

Jack would have asked how she fared herself amid all this illness – and death: Tai Huang said that over two dozen had succumbed and another dozen were like to in the next couple of days – but there was no need. One Soeur Marguerite, precise and doe-eyed, came to them halfway through the grim tour, swept a startled glance over Jack as they were introduced, then begged Elizabeth to come help with a particularly recalcitrant patient. Jack followed along and stood a little way off, watching as Elizabeth knelt and patiently coaxed a feverish, fretful woman to swallow a cup of that horrid medicinal tea the crew of the _Empress_ swore by: able to cure anything from a blistered heel to the Black Death, or so they'd told Jack when he'd been abed with an ague himself the previous year – made him shudder just to think of the taste of it!

"Her name is Louise, and she's the mother of five children," Elizabeth explained when the woman was laid down and tucked in again. The King of Pirates wiped her hands on a rather stained towel she'd tucked into the belt 'round her slim waist, then brushed a stray wisp of golden hair back off her forehead. "One of her children died – he was among the first victims – and now two more have caught it. She longs to care for them herself, and frets a good deal-- insists she's never ill!"

She smiled, but Jack did not – such jests fell too close to home -- and her smile faltered.

"Come, " she said, "I'll introduce you to Henri Pontchartrain. He'll wish to meet you."

They found Pontchartrain in a small alcove of the church that was lined with tall, many-paned windows that let in more sun and warmth than was available in the nave. He was tending his young brother, Emile, a thin, half-grown lad whom Jack could see was very ill indeed, and not long for this world.

Henri was remarkably good-looking, with dark hair, golden skin, and a good figure – and he looked to be only few years older than Elizabeth. Moreover, his admiration for Her Nibs was quite evident, his worried face lighting as soon as he laid eyes upon her. But he jumped up and professed himself all gladness to meet the famous Captain Jack Sparrow at last, and Elizabeth's indulgent smile, the same one she'd use on any other worshipful youth (and Lord knew there'd been plenty over the years) told Jack he had nothing to fear from that quarter.

Not that he _was_ afraid. Or jealous.

He bowed, to Henri, and then to the youngster, Emile, who was awake. Emile, pitiful creature that he was, held out a hand, and was trying to say something to him. Jack drew closer, and crouched beside the cot.

"You are a pirate!" Emile said, his eyes overbright, running curious fingers along the sleeve of Jack's coat.

"That I am, lad." Jack's mouth quirked. "Though so's the lady, here, for that matter."

"Capitaine Swann. She has told me stories…" He broke off, closing his eyes against some pain within.

"I daresay. Hers can't compare with mine, of course," Jack said, lightly, hoping to distract him.

Emile recovered a little, and opened his eyes again. "Will you tell me one? Please, capitaine. One about the sea."

"The sea!" Jack hesitated, but only very briefly. "A vast subject, me lad. I'd better sit down for it, eh?"

And he eased down, cross-legged, next to the low cot, and for half an hour spun a tale for the boy, of wind and waves, and his great black ship, his _Pearl_, straining toward that far horizon.

**_TBC_**


	4. Persuasion

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Four: **_**Persuasion**_

Jack returned to the Pearl, alone and unsmiling, in the late afternoon. Some of the crew were helping with repairs already, along the waterfront, but when they saw their captain headed toward the ship they dropped what they were doing and followed him back. He boarded, strode to the companion to the quarterdeck, trotted halfway up, then turned and leaned one hip casually on the rail, facing them. They gathered, just below.

"Is she ready to come back, Captain?" Mr. Gibbs opened, doubtfully.

"Excellent question, Mr. Gibbs. I'm thinking not, but I shall do my best to persuade her of the advisability of that course this evening. If you'll please see to a nice light supper for us, and a bath prepared for her, I'll see to the rest of the arrangements." As he'd expected, there was a ripple of amusement. Jack let it die down, and then continued. "However, unless me powers of persuasion are more persuasive than that moral compass of hers, it's all too likely she'll dig in her heels and refuse to accompany us back to uncivilized parts. If that's the case, I'll be staying, too, I reckon."

"We'll all be stayin'!" asserted Ragetti, and a chorus of ayes followed.

Jack did smile a bit at that. "That right? I must admit, I'm very glad to hear it, very glad indeed. But I want you all to consider." He pointed a long finger at them. "This plague they've got here is no laughing matter. Any one of us could be struck down. It's a risk, for each and every one of us, and if any man's not full willing to lay his life on that particular line I won't hold it against him, and nor will any of you, savvy?" He paused for effect, then said, "See me at the end of the morning watch if you'd like to leave. It wouldn't come amiss to send a message to the Cove, and they've a nice little schooner available for commandeering."

The men looked around at each other, but none spoke, or appeared to even consider it. Still, one never knew.

Jack said, finally, "All right, back to work. Her Nibs'll be here before dark and I want all to be ready for her. Off you go, now!" And he straightened and shooed them to their tasks with a flutter of fingers.

o-o-o

Jori walked Elizabeth down to the waterfront just at sunset, then bid her "_Bonne nuit_!", returning to the church and his duties. Elizabeth wearily wondered if he ever slept, and, for perhaps the hundredth time, marveled at his unflagging good humor and energy. The sight of the _Pearl_ and the _Empress_ tied close together at the docks was always a sight to lift her heart, but it had rarely been more welcome than it was at present.

She knew, of course, that Jack would argue with her, try to persuade her to leave the people of Île Sainte-Thérèse to whatever fate had in store for them, but she also knew that she had only to stand firm. She had been relieved he had not seemed angry, as she had half expected he might, and that he had not insisted they speak in private earlier. Showing him the situation had been far more effective than any words she might have conjured. But had it been effective enough? Even if no other argument swayed him, surely he would admit that repairing the rift between Cove and Île was a most desirable outcome.

_Lord, _she was tired. Too tired to hold her own in any sort of brangle with Jack. All she wanted to do was wash the sweat and grime from her body and sleep, dreamless, for a year.

But one could not remain too downhearted when there were greetings coming from various members of both crews as she walked the length of the wharf, past the _Empress_ and on to the _Black_ _Pearl_. A couple of men were busy lighting the _Pearl_'s lamps, on transom, deck, and high on each yard-end, a cheering sight. And Mr. Gibbs was waiting for her at the top of the gangplank.

"Sure, it's a fine evening, Your Highness. Welcome to the _Black Pearl_."

Her mouth twisted in a wry smile at the form of address, and at the echo of Barbossa's ominous words, uttered so very long ago, but she thanked Gibbs and headed toward the Great Cabin, determined to at least _look_ the epitome of calm strength.

This resolve lasted until she went in and closed the door behind her.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she took in the scene: the heavy brocade drapes over the gallery windows drawn not-quite closed, letting in a glimpse of the fading sunset; a few beeswax candles and lamps lit here and there, dispelling the somewhat gloomy grandeur; the big carved table laid with a cold supper – fresh fruit, bread and butter, a roasted fowl, and was that a plate of her favorite sweetmeats? The ornate porcelain-lined bathtub that Jack had pirated from a very irate governor's wife stood in one corner, wisps of steam rising from it, and a copper kettle of water keeping warm beside it. In the other corner, the big bed was neatly turned down, its linens looking fresh and utterly inviting. And best of all, Jack was coming toward her, a glass of wine in either hand, eyes worried, but lips smiling.

Her own eyes stung with the threat of tears, and she bit her lip to stop a tremor as she took both glasses from him, setting them down on the small table by the door. And then she kissed him.

It was a long kiss, or a series of them, actually, scattered with murmured endearments, and heart-stopping, as Sparrow-kisses were wont to be: experience leavened with a revelation of the soul that never failed to astonish her. The feel of him, lithe and sleek and fit under the loose shirt… the scent of him, the taste… it fleetingly occurred to her that there was nothing else she needed in all the world at that moment than his arms about her, just like this.

At last, she clung to him and said, low and rather unsteady, "Jack… I'm going to stay."

He hugged her close, and sighed. "It's a bad risk, darlin'."

"I know. But… _please_." She felt a tear slip down her cheek, and blotted it surreptitiously against his shoulder.

He was silent for a moment, as though debating, his hand caressing the back of her head. But then he turned his face and kissed her temple, and said, "All right."

A weight seemed to lift from her heart.

o-o-o

He undressed her with his own hands while she sipped her wine, his eyes warm and then warmer as he bared her to his gaze, and she could not help but chuckle at him: rogue, dear friend, tender lover. He sat beside her on a stool as she bathed and soaked, "admiring the view", speaking with her of inconsequential things, his recent journey, gossip from the Cove, maintenance of the _Pearl_ and the _Empress_. He refused her more wine, until she'd had a bite of supper – "Might fall asleep before I can ravish you, eh?" – and then brought the food to her when she complained of this churlish treatment. He fed her, bit by bit, like some cherished pet – so absurd, so dear! But then he gave her another glass, cool and crisp, and a little sweet.

She must have dozed briefly, for she was suddenly aware of the glass being taken from her hand. She flushed, and said, "You were right about falling asleep."

But he waggled his brows at her and grabbed the towel that lay ready. "Up! Up!"

He helped her to rise and step from the water. She toweled herself dry while he fetched her brush, a very fine one with a tortoiseshell back that she kept on the _Pearl_ for such occasions. She stood still, willing herself not to think but only feel, as he plucked the pins from her hair and then brushed it out, carefully, thoroughly. She could not say for certain, of course, but she could not help but wonder at him, wonder if he was as different from other men in his coddling of her as he was different from them in appearance. It was a mystery…

The brush was set down on the stool, and then he was there behind her, the sweep of his clothing all along her back and legs, his arms slipping 'round her, his hands beginning to move over her. A kiss on her shoulder. His palms warm over her breasts, then pinching just enough to make her give a soft gasp at the shock that ran down her body. His left arm stilled her as his right ventured lower, a whisper over her skin, and lower still, light and ruffling, then pressing, teasing.

"Awake enough?" His voice purred against her ear.

She turned in his arms, laughing, undone. "Bed. Now!"

He grinned.

o-o-o

Some time in the midst of their coupling, their mood changed. Gentle play, and languorous caresses gave way to something more urgent. Something more desperate.

Thought had intruded. Elizabeth could see it in Jack's eyes and she knew he could see it in hers. There had been too much of everything, these last days, and too much death above all, but here was life, the essence of it. The chance of it.

They struggled and gripped, and then tore at each other, gasps and muffled cries mingling, hard kisses, a bite here, a bruise there. They were close, now, close and Elizabeth clutched him to her when he would have pulled away, her eyes flashing, his dark ones gone wide with something that might have been fear, or wonder or both. And he gave in to her then, a spasm almost like rage crossing his features before he bent his head and slid his hand under her hips to pull her hard against him.

She cried out, arching and thrashing beneath him as the agony of that horizon came suddenly upon her, and then his lips found hers once more, muffling their cries as the wave broke over them, she felt him shudder and shudder, and she held him tight, clinging fiercely to life even as they drowned.

o-o-o

They were not asleep, not yet. The moon stole through the gap in the drapes, silent silver light pooling upon the black sole of the cabin. Elizabeth stirred slightly against Jack's side, needing that keener awareness of his body, warm and alive, and pressed against hers.

His eyes were closed, his lashes, dark and full enough to cause a woman envy, fanned against his high cheekbones, but he groped and found her hand, and brought it to his lips.

"Jack…"

He turned his head, regarding her now. "Mmm?"

"If the worst should happen…" She hesitated, but he turned over onto his side to face her.

"I'll take you out," he said. "To Will."

She loosed her hand and reached up to run the backs of her fingers light over the edge of his beautiful face. "And Jamie?"

"He'll be fine."

Elizabeth nodded. Jack drew her close again, and she let go at last, the beat of his heart steady under her hand, drifting into dreamless sleep.

**_TBC_**

.


	5. Trouble

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Five: **_**Trouble**_

The first pale light of dawn was filtering through the gap in the drapes. Jack still slept, but not easily. His small, restless movements and increasingly distressed muttering made it apparent that some dreadful vision had him in its grip. Elizabeth slid a gentling hand up his arm, to his shoulder and called his name.

He started awake, stiffening, gaping at the black planks of the ceiling.

"It's a dream," she said.

He turned to her, his eyes haunted.

She swallowed hard. Some dreams were far more potent than memory. Wounds healed, but still left scars. "Come to me," she whispered, and he did, without hesitation. While the sun slowly rose above a red horizon, each soothed the other once more, with the balm of love that is forgiveness.

o-o-o

Jack walked Elizabeth back to the church toward the end of the morning watch. When they came within sight of the edifice, a lone figure was to be seen, sitting on a bench under a tree in the south garden. It was Henri Pontchartrain.

Elizabeth exchanged a speaking look with Jack and squeezed his hand, then let go and hurried over to Henri. The young man roused as she approached. Grief was writ on his face, and her heart ached for him. "Henri… Emile—"

"Gone."

She sat down beside him. "You were not alone?"

"No. Father Anselm was there, and Soeur Marguerite, too."

"Ah, I'm glad of that."

He nodded. "He was at peace… at the end."

"And now he is with God," Elizabeth said.

Henri seemed doubtful. "Do you think so?" he said in a whisper.

"I know it," said Elizabeth, with conviction, remembering her father's last words to her: _I'll give your love to your mother, shall I?_

A flicker of hope crossed the tear-stained countenance.

Elizabeth touched his hand. "Are the women taking care of him?"

Henri nodded, and laughed sadly, his glance flicking from Elizabeth to Jack. "After so many days of care, there is now nothing for me to do."

Jack sat down on Elizabeth's other side. "Plenty to do, mate, if you'd like. The lads and I are going to help with the rebuilding. You could come along."

Henri considered. "I know little about such things. I… I have been a scholar, and more privileged than most folk here on the Île."

"You're a dab hand at sailing, from what me father said," Jack observed. "That skill didn't come to you out of a book."

"I have always loved to sail. I never thought it might prove to be of use beyond my own pleasure."

"Well, there you are. You never know about these things. Do you good to learn something new, maybe."

Henri smiled, bemused. "You are very kind, _Capitaine_."

"Not a bit of it. Many hands make light work, eh?" Jack rose to his feet again. "You come with me, lad. There's coffee and fresh bread and jam to be had at the waterfront, besides the work. Lizzie, darlin', you'll let the Sister know where Henri's gone, eh?"

"I will," she said, rising, too, and holding out a hand to Henri.

He took it, and allowed her to help him up.

o-o-o

It was a long, difficult day for Elizabeth and the others at the church. She worked doggedly, wherever she was needed, comforting as best she could, administering the medicinal tea and light foods that were all the stricken could eat, cleaning and washing, and dealing with noisome messes until, by late afternoon, she was bone-weary and felt quite nauseous herself. Overriding the objections of more old-fashioned folk, she and Soeur Marguerite caused the enormous church doors to be propped open, for the day was sunny and clear, a breeze freshening the air. When at last Jack's distinctive silhouette appeared there, against the light of late afternoon, as he strode in and down the aisle to fetch her, she felt guiltily, blessedly relieved.

"Good afternoon, _Capitaine_!" Soeur Marguerite looked tired herself, yet found it in her to greet Jack with a smile. "Are you come to take your lady home? She has done so much today, I fear we tax her too greatly."

Elizabeth flushed, and said to her, "Sister! You were up half the night with Emile and Henri, and have not rested yet!"

"It is true," Soeur Marguerite nodded. "I must rest, also. Soon, after the evening meal. But we have more help, now, and I think you should not keep Capitaine Sparrow waiting."

"Precisely so, ma'am," agreed Jack, with a teasing glance at Elizabeth. "'Tis fortunate the townsfolk are roused to action at last. I see you've several more nurses at your disposal. And their men have come out to join in the rebuilding. We made some good progress today."

Soeur Marguerite's eyes twinkled. "Of course! The citizens could not let _pirates_ appear to be more courageous and responsible than they are themselves!"

Jack nodded solemnly. "Very true."

On the way back to the waterfront, however, Jack gave Elizabeth a scold for "pushing this bloody altruism too far". He told her, "You'll go to bed – and to _sleep!_ – straightaway after dinner, and no makin' sheep's eyes at me."

"I don't!" she exclaimed.

"Y'do. How's a man to resist ravishment when you look like that on top of… _looking_ like that?"

"Jack, you can't be serious," she snapped. "I must look the veriest hag."

"Ha! You're not capable of such a thing. I should know. Jamie took you to hell an' back when he made his debut and you still—"

He'd halted suddenly, as though stunned, his gaze fixed on a group of children over near the wharf, the first young ones they'd seen at play in the town, all of them sitting or crouching in a circle, intent on some game.

Jamie.

Elizabeth froze, her hand rising to cover the horrified 'O' of her mouth. Jamie! _Here!_

Jack spat a furious expletive and took off, striding toward the children like some bird of prey, rather than any sparrow. And the children saw -- Jamie saw, jumping up, his eyes like saucers. He turned and ran for the wharf – for the _Pearl_ – as fast as his short legs would carry him.

Jack sped after him, roaring, "James Turner, you get back here!"

Elizabeth choked, between laughter at this waste of breath and tears of anguish. Jamie here, exposed to that fever – it was unthinkable! This is what came of their indulgence, their failure to make him understand that he must obey, for his own sake and for that of others. Although, there'd certainly be no avoiding retribution now, wherever he'd been hiding. Jack knew every inch of the _Pearl_ like the back of his hand.

The back of his—

Elizabeth, assailed by a horrifying vision of her darling's probable fate, sprinted after them.

Jamie, for all he was young, could run like the wind, but if he had not been so much closer to the wharf than Jack and Elizabeth, he would have been caught before his feet touched the _Pearl_'s deck. As it was, however, Elizabeth had a distant view of Jamie racing up the gangplank and bowling past the gaping anchor watch, with Jack only a few yards behind. By the time Elizabeth was mounting the gangplank to the deck, both Jack and Jamie had disappeared and Jack's roar seemed to be coming from the bowels of the ship. Elizabeth hesitated, but then the roar was replaced by shrieks of terror, and, as she leapt to the companion and began to pound down the steps to the lower decks, the shrieks changed to another roar, this one high-pitched, its anguish indicative of the punishment being visited upon Jamie's person.

"_Jack! No!_" Elizabeth shouted. _He's so small -- too small for this. Oh, God…_

But when she reached the correct deck and found them, long seconds later, the denouement had unfolded and the epilogue was in progress: Jamie still roared, his red face wet with tears, both hands pressed to his backside, as Jack, seated on a crate, gave him a shake, scolding again.

"Scurvy brat, haven't we enough to worry about without your blatant disobedience? Didn't I tell you to stay home with Teague? Didn't I? And look here—" Jack turned Jamie roughly to face Elizabeth. "You've made your mother weep, and her already full of terrible cares as it is!"

He let Jamie go, and Elizabeth fell to her knees and received her errant son into her arms.

o-o-o

Elizabeth and Jack lay staring at the ceiling in the dark of night. They were both exhausted, and yet were unable to sleep, melancholy hanging over them like some horrid gray fog.

Earlier, Elizabeth had brought Jamie up to the Great Cabin, washed his face, helped him to blow his nose, and changed him into an old shirt of Jack's before tucking him up in the truckle bed. He'd lain there, restless, for a long time, rending her heart with an occasional shuddering snuffle, until Jack came in and the little boy pulled the covers over his head, lying silent and still as a mouse in an effort to render himself invisible.

Then cook brought in dinner. A few minutes later, Jack and Elizabeth were picking disconsolately at their fish stew when Jamie materialized again, appearing beside his mother but peaking over the edge of the table at Jack.

"May I have some, too?" Jamie asked, a tremor in his voice.

Jack set his spoon down and pushed back his chair. "Come here, lad."

Jamie hesitated, but Jack held out his hands and Jamie went to him, a sob escaping as he was gathered in. He wrapped his arms about Jack's neck and buried his face in the long, trinketed hair, uttering a broken "S-sorry!".

"Scurvy brat," Jack muttered, hugging him close. "Just hope you're not destined to be sorrier still."

Now, staring sleepless at the ceiling, Elizabeth thought again of those words. "Jack," she whispered, finding his hand. "You must take Jamie home. Tomorrow. Please?"

Jack laced her fingers in his own. "Aye. I will."

"Teague will be out of his mind with worry."

"I suppose. Thought he would've come after the lad, actually."

"He probably thought Jamie'd be found sooner, and you'd bring him back."

"Likely. And he should've arrived by now, if he was coming himself. Bloody hell. He'll be laughin' his arse off at this."

"Laughing! But why would he?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "Just fathers and sons, I suppose," he said finally. "We used to butt heads something fierce. Never could forgive him for some of the thrashings he gave me."

Elizabeth smiled bleakly in the darkness, her heart aching for Teague and Jack. For Jack and Jamie. "Jamie won't hate you for this."

"No. Maybe not. Not this time."

"Perhaps there won't be a next time."

Jack snorted, grimly amused. "He's no saint, love."

"No."

"The thing is," Jack mused, "we've got to stay one step ahead of him. Need to cast our minds back, anticipate what he'll do next. We've a deal of experience between us, after all. Should be dead easy."

Elizabeth privately agreed that surely it must be possible for two capable adults to keep one small miscreant in check. But she sniffed, and said, "Speak for yourself, Jack Sparrow. I doubt I've even a fraction of your experience!"

"Oh, is that so?" He turned to her, and whispered in her ear. "Scurvy brat!"

_**TBC**_


	6. Complications

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Six: **_**Complications**_

The _Venturous Maid_ (formerly the EITC's flagship _Venture_), made port at Île Sainte-Thérèse by the middle of the morning, tying up opposite the _Black Pearl_ and the _Empress _almost entirely without fanfare, much to Barbossa's annoyance.

"Where in blazes are they?" He shouted over to the lone watch he could spot, one of Elizabeth's dour Chinamen, who merely pointed up the wharf into the town.

"Where's Jamie is what I want to know," Teague growled. He called out, "Have y'seen Jamie Turner?" and was rewarded with a sharp nod and a gesture toward the _Pearl_. Teague closed his eyes briefly, and even Barbossa breathed a bit easier. The little lad wanted schooling, but he had potential, right enough.

"Well, we knew it, didn't we?" Barbossa raised a brow. "Going to pay him a visit?"

Teague straightened, his narrowed gaze on the _Pearl_. "Not just yet. Let's go find Jackie."

It didn't take them long to catch wind of Sparrow, thanks to a knowledgeable pack of little ones who were the only townsfolk visible. They'd gawped at the _Maid _as she'd eased up to the dock, but had since lost interest, grand pirate ships being so thick on the ground here, apparently, and were now playing some game, near the wharf. They stopped and stared round-eyed at Barbossa and Teague, however, as the two approached in their finery and weapons.

"Capitaine Jacques leaves _his_ sword on his ship!" one saucy lass piped up, accusingly.

"Does 'e now?" Hector smiled in his most ingratiating manner. "And would ye happen to know where _Capitaine Jacques_ has gone off to this fine morning?"

"Don't tell him, Cecille!" A smaller boy, probably the chit's brother, tugged at her sleeve.

"Stop it, Jules!" She jerked her arm away. She said to Hector, "He is with the men. They are helping to repair the schoolhouse."

"The schoolhouse, is it?" Hector smirked and slid his eyes at Teague. "Ain't that precious?"

"Precious. Aye," said Teague. "Now Cecille – and Jules! What say you show us the way to that schoolhouse?" And Teague carefully reached forward and drew a shiny doubloon from behind the lass's ear.

o-o-o

"Jack's 'round the back," called Gibbs from the roof of the schoolhouse, where he and several others were nailing on new shingles where the old had blown clean off.

Teague and Barbossa headed down the side of the building. Gibbs hadn't seemed particularly surprised to see them, but the same couldn't be said for Jack, who came around the back corner loaded down with a variety of tools and nearly collided with Teague. He gave a startled yelp, dropped a couple of items, then yelped again as a hammer bounced off his booted toe. A spate of curses followed as he retrieved the tools.

Teague said, amused, "Weren't you expecting us, Jackie?"

"Not you!" Jack straightened and gave that pout of his. "Saw the _Maid _was headed in, of course. Thought you'd sent Hector."

"Barbossa arrived the night after you left. Kindly offered to bring me out when we couldn't find hide nor hair of Jamie. I was a mite worried. When'd you find 'im?"

"Just yesterday. Little bugger was cozied up in a corner of the hold with the ship's cat for three days! Made a bloody mess down there, too. Couldn't stand it anymore an' snuck off the ship to play with some children by the wharf, which is where Lizzie an' I found 'im when we was headed back, yesterday."

"God's teeth." Teague shook his head. "I suppose you gave him what for?"

A bitter scowl crossed Jack's face. "Oh, aye. You'd've been right proud."

He started to walk off, but Teague caught his arm. Jack's eyes flashed, but his father paid no heed, saying, "Lost yer temper with 'im?"

Jack made no reply, but from his expression it was evident that Teague had hit the mark.

"It had to be done, Jackie," Teague told him, letting go. "He's got to learn, or he'll be useless! You know that. But you ain't me, boy, an' don't you go thinkin' you are."

One of Jack's brows lifted, and from the looks of it Barbossa suspected that was the closest Teague had ever come to owning he'd done ill by his son a time or two. Jack just shrugged, then, and said, "Time'll tell, won't it?" But he looked a bit easier as he shoved past and headed toward the front of the building.

Barbossa fell into step with him. "Where's our fair sovereign?"

"Tending the sick, at the church. They've a plague here, and you'll want to be away soon as may be -- and I'll be obliged if you'd take Teague and Jamie. More old folks and little ones down with it by far than those in their middle years."

"Are you implying I'm old, boy?" growled Teague from behind them.

"Implying? I'm bloody comin' right out with it!" Jack averred. "You'll all leave on the next tide, savvy?"

Hector bridled, unwilling to take orders from Jack, bloody _maîtresse en titre_ or no."We'll sail in the morning," Hector told him. "We've some cargo to offload, medicines and blankets and such. I'll set the lads to work this afternoon. And I'll want to see Her high-an'-mightiness before we leave. What maggot's in 'er head, lingering in a place like this? Why the devil didn't you bring her back to the cove?"

"Bring 'er? You should know better than that by now. Tried to talk some sense into her, but she'd none of it."

"Touched in the head," Barbossa muttered. "This ain't what pirates do! _Charity!_" He spat, disgusted.

"You try tellin' her that."

"I will, since you're apparently incapable."

Teague spoke up then, rather severely. "Pirates do what they like, when they like. Lizzie's been a good King, canny and bold as they come. No reason to doubt her judgment now."

"What if she dies of it?" Barbossa objected. "She's riskin' her life, and ours!"

Jack snorted. "Aye, our usual lay ain't dangerous in the least."

"You know what I mean. This is different."

"It is. I think that's why she's doing it."

"Bloody _soft!_"

Jack laughed. "You can tell her that. I'll just stand to one side, out of harm's way."

o-o-o

Teague stayed at the schoolhouse, where he proceeded to take over direction of the workers in a rather forceful manner, and Barbossa and Jack walked through the town to the church. The doors stood open and their quarry came out as they approached, accompanied by a slim, neatly habited nun, dark to Lizzie's gold, and near as pretty. Hector swept off his hat and made a leg.

Elizabeth said, fervently. "Hector, I'm so glad you've come!"

"Brought Teague, too," said Jack. "We left him at the schoolhouse, arguin' with the townsmen on the best way to shore up the roof over the portico. Soeur Marguerite, Hector Barbossa, captain of the _Venturous Maid_."

Soeur Marguerite bowed. "A pleasure, _capitaine_. Elizabeth has told me something of you."

"Has she now? Nothin' good, I hope?"

The little nun chuckled, and her eyes were kind, but knowing. "God will judge us all in time, _n'est-ce pas_? But you have come in a good hour, and for that we can only be grateful."

Elizabeth said, "You'll take Jamie back to the Cove for us? Jack would have sailed this morning except that we saw the _Maid_ coming in."

"Aye, well, we can talk about the particulars of that tonight over dinner. Might I invite ye both to dine on the _Maid_? And Jack, too, o' course."

"Oh, yes, Soeur Marguerite – please do!" Elizabeth begged. "Hector's cook is a compatriot of yours. And you can meet my Jamie, naughty boy though he is."

A young man had come up behind them, out of the church, and now said, quietly but firmly, "_Oui, mon soeur_, it will do you good to get away for a few hours."

"Jori! This is Captain Barbossa."

Jori bowed. He said to Barbossa and Jack, "Today we have received no new sick to be tended. There are still many ill, but most are responding to the medicinal tisane and better conditions afforded by the generous people of Shipwreck Cove. We owe you much thanks."

"That's fine news!" Barbossa said, and looked pointedly at Elizabeth. "Maybe you'll be leavin' yourself, then, soon."

"Not for a while – a week at least, I should think. But dinner tonight. And Jori and I will persuade Soeur Marguerite to come, too."

The three took their leave, then, and went back to the church. Jack and Barbossa headed off toward the docks.

"I notice there was no mention of Lizzie bein' _soft_," Jack said, slyly amused.

Hector said, "Don't you worry. I'll speak me mind to 'er tonight."

o-o-o

He did speak it, taking Elizabeth out on deck for "a word in private" after they'd all gathered on the _Venturous_ _Maid_ for supper. The two returned very shortly, and Jack saw, with no surprise, that whatever Barbossa had said had been a waste of breath. There was a grim look about Lizzie's mouth and a spot of color on either cheek. And Hector was scowling.

He gathered his wits, though and played the host with some grace, and was seemingly soothed by Soeur Marguerite's presence, a development Jack watched with interest. Iniquity contrasted with innocence– though it wasn't as though Soeur Marguerite wasn't fly to the time of day. Virtuous was maybe a better word. She chose to keep her eyes on the light, looking past the darkness in the conviction that all would unfold as it should. It was possible she had a point.

Teague seemed to enjoy her too, and Jamie, who'd been confined to the _Pearl_'s Great Cabin with Ragetti as watch dog all day, seemed fascinated by the first nun he'd ever seen. Jack hoped the lad wouldn't blurt out something untoward, for he'd overheard a few stories about Jack's stay in that convent, so many years ago.

But Jamie wasn't his usual lively self that night, and as the meal wore on he grew quieter, picking at his food. Jack didn't worry about these strange behaviors, since he'd witnessed the tongue-lashing Teague had given the boy earlier – enough to give anyone a fit of the sulks, let alone a five-year-old boy. But then the last course was brought in, sweets and nuts and a good French brandy for the men, and Jamie pushed his plate away.

"What the devil ails you, lad?" demanded Teague, as surprised as Jack. Jamie's love of sweets was well known.

And Jamie uttered words that brought all conversation to an abrupt halt: "Mama, I don't feel well."

Elizabeth's face drained of color.

Teague laid his hand on Jamie's forehead and frowned, but by that time Jack and Elizabeth were around the table.

"Stand up." Elizabeth's voice was tight as she pulled her son to his feet.

Jack saw Jamie sway, and knelt to support him, taking hold of him under the arms. The small body was hot to the touch.

And then Elizabeth pulled Jamie's shirt up and the telltale rash was revealed over his abdomen and chest. "Jamie," she whispered, and then dropped the shirt, and pulled him close in an agony of fear and despair.

**_TBC_**


	7. Darkness

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Seven: **_**Darkness**_

"We should take him to the church," Elizabeth said, in a hollow voice. Panic and pain assailed her, but she pushed them away, even as she held her son close. This was not the time.

Jamie squirmed. "I want to go back to the Pearl. Mama—"

"Can't," said Jack harshly, rising. Elizabeth loosed Jamie and the boy turned to Jack, uncertainly. But Jack's face revealed what his voice did not, and he held out his hands. "Come along, lad." Jamie went to him, was lifted, and clung, monkey-like, whimpering something about the Pearl. Jack hushed him firmly, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and met Elizabeth's.

She rose, too, and nodded.

o-o-o

Jack carried Jamie all the long way to the church, and Elizabeth walked beside them, willing herself to calm. Barbossa, a thick, unwieldy featherbed over his shoulder, and Soeur Marguerite with a pile of clean blankets, were following behind. The bedding was from the captain's quarters on the Maid, a generosity that Elizabeth suspected had been inspired by a few words of Soeur Marguerite's.

Jamie was asleep when they reached the church, and Elizabeth thought it just as well. The building looked a place of fear in the harsh moonlight, shadows and stone blocking the stars. Inside was no better, the light of candles doing little to dispel the gloom, and occasional moans and other sounds of the afflicted disturbing the silence. The large, gruesomely detailed crucifix looming above the altar seemed ominous, not at all the comfort it was meant to be.

Jori came hurrying up to them. "Madame, not your son!"

"Yes," Elizabeth rasped. She clamped her teeth together.

"The alcove," said Jori, taking the little boy from Jack. Jamie did not wake, and Jori moved off, toward the place where Emile Pontchartrain had breathed his last. It was secluded, and quiet, and Elizabeth was grateful that it was available, that Jamie would be in a better situation than most, though she could not help wondering what had been the fate of the young woman who'd occupied it after Emile had passed. She didn't have the courage to ask just then, however.

There was an empty cot in the alcove. They quickly made up a soft bed, using the linens they'd brought.

Jori laid Jamie gently down, and Elizabeth's son stirred. Jori asked, "Do you have a nightshirt for him?" Barbossa pulled a bundle of worn linen from a capacious pocket, one of his own shirts. Jori nodded. "He'll be more comfortable in that. I'll go fetch a cup of the tisane. The sooner he begins taking it the more effective it will be."

Elizabeth winced, anticipating rebellion. Jamie had the finicky tastes of extreme youth at the best of times. He complained petulantly as they got him up, stripped him of his clothing and bundled him into the shirt, rolling the long sleeves up to his bony wrists, but then Jack sat down and pulled him onto his lap as Jori came back bearing the cup, and through much teasing and cajolery the two got Jamie to swallow nearly all of its contents. Everyone praised Jamie lavishly, and he managed a smile.

They tucked him in and he was soon asleep. Soeur Marguerite left with Jori to check on the other patients. Elizabeth laid a hand on Hector's arm. "Thank you."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow. You'd best get some rest while ye can."

She nodded.

But though Jack found a mattress that wasn't in use, and there was a blanket to fold and use as a pillow and one to cover them as well, neither of them slept for a long time. They lay close and still, listening for any sound from Jamie. In the resulting silence, the accusing voices in Elizabeth's head were deafening. What did it matter that her motives had been pure? If she hadn't stayed, her son would still be safe at the Cove.

o-o-o

The following day was hard. Elizabeth and Jack took turns watching Jamie, and his condition grew worse by perceptible degrees. This was to be expected, as both Jori and Soeur Marguerite reminded her, but Elizabeth discovered by chance that two of the children Jamie had been playing with by the wharf had also taken ill and lay suffering in another part of the church. One of them had the same progression of symptoms as Jamie, but the other grew worse very rapidly and by late afternoon had lapsed into unconsciousness.

Elizabeth watched from the shadows as Father Anselm gave the child the last rites, but when the child's mother broke down, sobbing hysterically, Elizabeth drew back, sick with pity and dread. Then she heard a cry and, recognizing it as Jamie's, turned and saw him struggling vigorously to avoid the bitter cup Jack and Jori were trying to give him.

She had to get away, just for a few moments. That young mother could be herself, might well be herself in another day, or even hours. She hurried down the shadowed side aisle, ignoring greetings and calls for help alike, fairly running by the time she reached the church door, and slipping around the side of the edifice to take refuge in the garden—

Blinded by tears, she didn't see Barbossa until he'd caught her roughly by the shoulders. She cried out, startled and dismayed, and saw that he was not alone, Henri Pontchartrain stood there, too, looking horrified.

"Jamie?" Barbossa said sharply.

"No!" she managed to blurt, and then began to sob, and angrily push him away at the same time. Almost to her surprise, he let her go, but it was because Jack was there to catch her.

"What the devil?" demanded Jack, ignoring her protests. She gave it up, clinging and weeping like the pathetic creature she was, furious with herself, yet unable to do otherwise. _Jamie! Oh, Jamie!_

Barbossa and Jack began to argue.

"What the devil, aye!" said Barbossa. "Is the lad all right or not?"

"He's not so bad as all _this_, though he's like to get worse before he improves, they say. Bloody hell, Liz'beth, what ails you?"

"She's worn to a bone, is what! Any idiot can see that. She'll end by catchin' it herself if you don't take care."

"_Me?_"

"_You!_ Turner left 'er in your charge, her and the boy, both, and here you've let her work herself to a frazzle and the boy's lying there sick as a dog."

"You bastard!" Jack hissed. "I can't make her sleep!"

"Aye, but you can. Take 'er back to the _Pearl_ and bed her, dose her, whatever it takes."

Elizabeth's ire was roused at that, and she twisted around. "I will not—"

"You will, _whatever it takes_, missy," Barbossa repeated. "You're doin' no one good like this. I'll stay with the boy tonight. He knows me. And Henri here'll help."

"_Oui, madame_," Henri put in, pleading. "Indeed, you are not yourself. We will send word, immediately, of course, if there is need."

"I _can't!_ I—Jamie!" She broke away from Jack and headed back to the church, to her son, swiping at her wet cheeks with her palms, pulling the rag from her belt and blowing her nose.

The light of the afternoon sun streaked the lofty interior, now, and the church seemed far more the blessing it was meant to be than it had in the previous hours. And Jamie was asleep again, with Jori at his side.

The young man frowned, standing at her approach. Their approach. Jack, Barbossa, and Henri were following in her wake. She sat down beside Jamie, and laid her hand upon his burning brow. Behind her, the men discussed – argued – the situation, but she paid no heed until Soeur Marguerite came to her. Elizabeth looked up, and wondered as always at the strength in that slight frame, and the kindness in the tired eyes.

"Madame, they are right. You should rest. No, listen to me! Your son is easy enough now, but the test will come, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, and he will need all your strength. Go. He will be in good hands tonight, and you will be the better for it, as will he."

There was nothing she could say in the face of such an argument.

o-o-o

"Drink this," Jack said, holding out a tankard.

Elizabeth eyed him, warily.

But he had a tankard for himself, too, and his lips quirked. "No, there's no laudanum in it. Just a bit of brandy. Cook made it special for you."

She accepted it and sipped, cautiously, then closed her eyes in delight. One of her favorite things, a hot milk punch, and there was more than just a "bit" of brandy, along with some sugar and spices. She settled back against the pillows, and Jack disposed himself beside her.

They drank in companionable silence, and when she was finished he took her tankard and set it on the floor with his own, doused the single lamp, and turned to her. While the brandy wove its spell along her veins, he wove his own magic, slow and warm, the light of his gaze, his very whisper holding her fast, steadily pushing back the darkness and, finally, for a time, overwhelming it entirely.

o-o-o

Soeur Marguerite had been right. Over the next three days, Jamie's fever slowly mounted, until by the third he was tossing and delirious. Elizabeth allowed Father Anselm to give Jamie last rites, though she set her face and heart like stone, refusing to believe her darling would succumb.

Barbossa had looked in on them once a day, and she, Jack, and Henri Ponchartrain, who had taken a liking for Jamie, had shared out the sickbed watches. On the evening of that third day, however, none of them left Jamie's side, for the crisis was at hand.

Elizabeth prayed that night, and she thought perhaps Jack did, too. Henri said his rosary, several times, and then lapsed into a meditative silence. Barbossa paced, for a long while, like some caged thing, until Soeur Marguerite came to join the vigil and he sat awkwardly beside her on the stone bench against the wall and watched her fingers move over her own rosary beads.

It was near dawn when voices jerked Elizabeth from a doze. Jack and Jori were there by Jamie's cot, and she scrambled up, exclaiming, "What is it?", rousing Barbossa and Henri, who'd also fallen asleep.

And Jori turned with a smile. "Come look!"

She squeezed between Jack and Jori, hardly daring to believe… but it was true. Jamie lay pale and still, but there were beads of sweat along his hairline, and he took in deep, easy breaths as she watched.

"The fever's broken. He'll be all right," said Jack, softly, putting his arm about Elizabeth's waist. She nodded, tears of relief slipping down her cheeks.

o-o-o

Jamie was weak but almost himself when he woke, a few hours later, and was even able to take some warm milk and a few bites of the panada that the _Pearl_'s cook had prepared especially for him when the happy news had reached the ship. Tai Huang visited, and told Elizabeth that Teague, who'd chafed at being banned from visiting Jamie, had given a whoop of delight, and danced a jig when he'd found out, and the townsmen he'd been haranguing for the last few days had applauded.

"The crews of the _Empress_ and the _Pearl_ extend their felicitations to you as well, Captain Swann," Tai Huang said, bowing.

"The _Maid_'s crew, too, I'll be bound," said Barbossa, then turned to Jamie with a raised brow. "You had us in quite a pucker, imp."

Jamie smiled sleepily, his eyes drifting closed.

"Don't take it to heart, Hector," said Jack, patting his rival on the shoulder. "You can't help it if you're a dead bore."

Barbossa glared. "D'ye ever get weary o' flappin' that jaw?" He turned to the ladies and bowed. "I'll bid ye adieu, Yer Nibs. Soeur Marguerite, will ye take a turn in the garden with me afore I head back to me ship?"

Soeur Marguerite acquiesced, to Elizabeth's surprise, and the sight of the flamboyant and fierce Barbossa walking from the church with the composed little nun by his side made all of them smile.

But five minutes later, Tai Huang said, "Look!" and pointed to the church door. Barbossa was back – and Soeur Marguerite lay in his arms, her head lolling.

**_TBC_**


	8. Morning

_** Stormalong **_

**Chapter Eight: **_**Morning**_

What a difference a fortnight made!

Soeur Marguerite out of danger. Jamie nearly his lively, mischievous self again. And Elizabeth could at last take the time to enjoy a morning's leisure in her cabin on the Empress.

She was sipping her coffee and was half way through the dispatches that had arrived from the Cove the evening before when there was a scratch upon the door and Father Anselm was announced. She stood up as he came in, and returned his bow gravely enough, though her eyes twinkled at his pinched, disapproving expression. "Will you sit down and take coffee with me, Father?"

"No, I thank you," he replied, stiffly. "Capitaine Swann, I have come to lodge a protest, to implore you to use whatever power and influence may be yours in curbing the untoward behavior of your colleague, Capitaine Barbossa!"

Elizabeth widened her eyes. "But Father! I was under the impression he'd been on his very best behavior these three weeks and more, since his arrival on the Île. He and his men have joined in the rebuilding of your town with the greatest good will!"

The priest frowned. " I do not speak of that. We are, of course, infinitely grateful for the assistance your people have lent in this regard. The rift between the Cove and the Île is ended. Better than ended. As if it had never been! But Barbossa's sin is grave nonetheless, showing favor, nay, tempting a holy woman! A woman who should be beyond reproach in the eyes of all! A woman who most certainly should not be exposed to the vile blandishments of a… of a pirate! You will forgive my candor on this head."

Will I, indeed? Elizabeth's smile had vanished, but she ignored the general insult, for the moment, and focused on the more specific one. "And is she not beyond reproach, Father? You speak of Soeur Marguerite, I take it, but I am not aware that Captain Barbossa has done ought but converse a little with her in the evenings, and arrange that flowers be brought to the church to bring her joy, and joy to everyone who has been ill. Is his sin so grave?"

Father Anselm reddened, and he looked quite severe. "He should not thus single her out! Scandalous enough that he laid unclean hands upon her when she first succumbed to the malady!"

"Should he have let her fall to the ground and perhaps be injured?" Elizabeth protested.

"She is a bride of Christ, and should not have been touched by such an one. He should have called for help, leaving her to those more worthy."

Elizabeth's eyes blazed, but with an effort she controlled her wrath. "Father Anselm, your people have never shown anything but the greatest love and respect for Soeur Marguerite, from the day I arrived to this. As for her association with Hector Barbossa, I can only point out that her actions are most in keeping with those of He to whom she's wed, He who did not scorn to befriend sinners. But content yourself, Father! The rebuilding is well in hand and the townsfolk are quite capable of completing it on their own. The plague has run its course. We will be leaving within the week, and I daresay you will find it a great relief to no longer have your town overrun by _pirates_."

o-o-o

Jack came into the cabin as Father Anselm was bowing himself out. Having observed the priest's face, and now seeing at Elizabeth's he raised a brow and gave a low whistle. "Lord, what did he say to you? You look ripe for murder."

"I am!" she asserted. She sat down and put her hands to her head. "Oh! He's such a… a…"

"Hypocrite?" Jack suggested, perching on the edge of the table, beside her. He picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip.

"Yes!" She looked up, outrage swelling. "Would you believe it? He told me Soeur Marguerite should have fallen to the ground unaided rather than be _manhandled_ by Barbossa!"

"And this surprises you?" Jack set the cup down again and smiled, all fond indulgence. "You're still such an innocent, love."

"I'll swear no one else here is of that opinion!"

"Probably more'n you'd think hold with it, though it ain't general, and only the priest dares to broach the subject. But it's time to take our leave, darlin'. Don't want to wear out our welcome."

"No." Elizabeth leaned back, and she could not help it, her heart grew lighter for love of the man before her, his strange beauty, his courage, his wit. If ever a monarch had an ideal helpmeet, it was Elizabeth Swann, King of Pirates. But she said only, "I wonder what he'll say when he learns Henri is coming with us?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't much care, and I doubt Henri does, either. He's a right one, is Henri. And not just because he's taken such a liking to Jamie, though I can't think of a finer tutor for the lad. A man of parts, is Henri Pontchartrain."

"Yes, he's a worthy opponent in chess as well, I gather." Elizabeth grinned. "He and Ragetti have a contest going, and Ragetti says Henri is 'up to every rig and row'."

"Aye! Can't beat 'im more'n three out of five meself. Told him I'd teach him swordplay, too, which should be amusing."

"Perhaps Barbossa would be better suited to that task," Elizabeth suggested, slyly, standing. She slipped a teasing hand under his coat, along his ribs.

He started, scowled, and stood up himself, pulling her hard against him. "Are you implying my swordplay ain't what it should be, you scurvy wench?"

She chuckled. "That's _King_ scurvy wench to you, knave!"

He grinned. "So it is, Your Nibs," he agreed, his voice full of love and laughter, and he kissed her.

o-o-o

Barbossa's eyes were focused on the bright sea ahead as the _Maid_ left the harbor of Île Sainte-Thérèse behind. Always did him good to be at sea. Washed the decks clean, brushed the cobwebs away. A month on land was too much for a man. No wonder Jack'd gone a bit mad – madder – during that time he'd spent in the Locker.

But this last month had been a strange one, no question, and maybe he'd gone a bit mad himself.

Smitten by a nun, of all things.

She'd reminded him of a lass he'd known, long ago, when he'd been no more'n a lad himself. Growing up in the same village, he hadn't thought much of her. She were quieter than the other lasses, slender and dark, with a sober look in her eye, though the expressive, beautiful lips had a humorous curve 'round the edges. But she did him a kindness, once, though he was beneath her notice, she being the daughter of the local reverend and him just the youngest of Maggie Washer's fatherless brood.

He was set to go to sea, but after that kindness he'd begun to eye the lass, and wonder about her. And though it were a terrible risk for both of 'em, he'd gotten to know her some, in a friendly way, and then… well, more serious. He couldn't deny it. Hadn't touched her, he'd at least had that much sense, though he'd ached with wanting it, and near the end had nigh strained his wrist seekin' solitary relief in out of the way corners. Not that there weren't plenty of willing lasses to ease him, if he'd had a mind. But in a village that small, she'd have heard, and thought less of him, and that he couldn't have.

So it'd been nothin' but talk between 'em, sweet but less than satisfying, until the last night, before he was to take the highroad for Bristol. She'd kissed him. And he'd kissed her.

You wouldn't think just a kiss would make that much of a mark on a man.

A year later she was gone. Same plague that'd taken his mother and youngest sister. That'd been a hard time. A hard time, and no mistake.

Well, Marguerite was safe. He'd seen to that. Helped with it, anyway. It'd please him to set his cook makin' all sorts of dainties for her when the fever'd left her so weak but on the mend, and the children of the village to gathering flowers, armloads of 'em, fillin' every vase and bowl they could find. Better'n that bloody incense. Made up some for that wound he'd taken so long ago, too, as had their conversation, of an evening. She was a treasure, sure enough.

He knew that damned priest had gone to Lizzie about it, though she'd never said anything. Fella probably set up her back – he was that sort. His expression had been priceless when Hector'd walked into the church carrying Marguerite. _Scum o' the earth_. Hector'd ignored the blackguard. Oh, he'd been circumspect enough in his dealings, and never moreso than that very morning, when he and Marguerite had bid each other adieu. A look, a brush of his lips on the back of her hand. Nothin' more than that. But that hadn't been for fear of the priest, but for love of the lady.

_Love!_ Hector shifted a bit, his hands tightening on the spokes of the wheel. Maybe that wasn't the right word.

But then again, maybe it was.

**_Finis_**


End file.
